


Pajamas

by ticklishraspberries



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tickling, ticklish crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishraspberries/pseuds/ticklishraspberries
Summary: Aziraphale wants to feel Crowley’s silk pajamas, but is reminded of something much more entertaining.





	Pajamas

“Those pajamas look especially comfortable.”**  
**

Crowley looked up from what he’d been reading (well, more like skimming, as it wasn’t that exhilarating) and then down at his black, silky pajamas. “Oh, yes, they are. Very comfortable.”

Aziraphale eyed him for a moment before scooting closer to the demon at his side. “May I feel them?”

“Of course, angel,” he replied fondly.

His eyes flickered back to his book, although his mind was in an entirely different place as the angel’s hand touched his shoulder, palm running smoothly down his arm, then over his thigh.

“Now I see why you enjoy wearing them so much,” Aziraphale murmured, trailing his hand back up and over Crowley’s stomach delicately.

The demon tensed beneath the soft touch, feeling a slight flush rising in his cheeks, hoping that the dim lamp-lighting in the room would keep his partner from noticing. “I told you they were comfortable, and yet you continue to sleep in those abominations that you call joggers.”

“My pajamas are perfectly nice, thank you very much.”

“They look like they’re designed for little girls, angel.”

Perhaps that was true, with their soft pink color, and the fluffy white clouds which decorated them. Still, Aziraphale wouldn’t stand for such slander of his wardrobe. “At least I enjoy a little color in my life, dear.”

His words were accentuated with a poke to the demon’s belly, as his hand had been resting there throughout their conversation anyway.

A strangled sound came from Crowley’s lips, which he’d pressed tightly shut, and his face twitched into what could almost be described as a smile, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Oh, are you ticklish?” Aziraphale asked, unable to mask the delight on his face. He did already know the answer to that question, but the information had slipped his mind over the past millennia or so, as they’d both been kept quite busy by other, more important things. The apocalypse, for example. It didn’t seem like the proper time for a tickle fight then.

But now, Aziraphale had no problem taking advantage of such information.

“Angel, don’t you da—Ack!”

“Oh, but I do dare, my dear.”

Quick fingers began to dance across the demon’s stomach, causing a strange sputtering noise, like the engine of an old car, to come from his lips which were squeezed tightly shut.

“Let it out, love, I know you’re simply dying to .”

Aziraphale moved his hand up Crowley’s side and pinched at his lower ribs, finally cracking open the dam, laughter pouring into the room like running water.

“Aren’t angels supposed to have mercy?” Crowley giggled, wriggling against the sheets like the aggravated snake he was.

“I have mercy! Although, you aren’t exactly begging for it, are you, eh?”

Crowley flushed to the tips of his ears. “Shut it,” he replied, trying to sound intimidating, but it was immediately followed by an adorable squeak when Aziraphale prodded at his armpit.

“Crowley, that’s not very nice. You’ve hurt my feelings, see?” Aziraphale teased, putting on a silly pout. “Apologize!”

“Never!”

“Oh, well then you’ve left me no choice.”

Before Crowley could even question what his angel was about to do, the other being was straddling his waist, hands diving beneath his silky pajama top to unleash an attack worthy of Armageddon on his ribs.

Neither of them could remember a time which he had laughed so hard before. It was incredibly refreshing for them both (although Crowley would deny it for eons upon eons if it ever came up).

“You know, these clothes of yours are soft, but your skin is as well. Maybe I’ll just keep my hands under here all evening.”

“Please, angel, I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Handle it?”

Crowley nodded his head frantically, nearly smacking his head on the wall behind them, but Aziraphale removed one hand from his ribs to act as a cushion there. How considerate, since he was already torturing the poor guy.

“Apologize for insulting my pajamas and I’ll stop,” Aziraphale said simply.

“Fine, fine, your bloody pajamas aren’t so bad, okay?”

Aziraphale kept his word, although he would hardly call that an apology.

Crowley slumped back against the bed, chest heaving. “Is that what they use as a torture method upstairs?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Maybe we should.”

Despite his feigned annoyance, Crowley snuggled up to the angel's side, shutting his yellow eyes. “Now I’m too tired to finish my book. You’re a cruel, cruel angel.”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t love it.”

“Goodnight, angel.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.”

It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep.


End file.
